The driver’s side door of the black SUV swings open, revealing black boots and tight jeans as Maria exits her car. Maria Estella is objectively attractive. Kind brown eyes and full lips sit atop a sharp, symmetrical face. She is a biologically appealing female. A crop top of some band she got at a thrift store completes her look. I spot a black scrunchy on her wrist and softly sigh before I get out of my truck. She quickly walks over to me with a smile blossoming on her face.
“Hello, Love. I tried to surprise you, but you weren’t home,” she pouted.
“I dropped Aubrey off at her place. And I had to go to Roxy’s for some things,” I said, holding up the plastic bag.
“Oooooh. What’d you get?”
“Nothing interesting. My dad’s back Monday, so I wanted to pick up a couple of things we were low on. Plus, I’m cooking a family dinner the night he gets back. Oh, you should join us.”
“You sure you want me there? I don’t wanna intrude upon family time,” she said nervously.
Here we go with the insecurities and doubts again.
“Maria, I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you there. Besides, like you said, it’s family time, and you definitely qualify at this point.”
She blushes at my over-the-top declaration before nodding. I quickly lean down and wrap her in my arms. She begins to protest my words, so I quiet her with a deep kiss. No tongue; that’s not what she needs right now. This kiss is meant to convey love, not lust. Counting the seconds in my head, I pull my lips away but continue the hug. Control the pressure. I want to be comforting, not commanding. After a minute or so, I release her.
“Maybe we should head inside? What will the neighbors think about our embrace?” I said jokingly.
A small giggle emerges from her, and we walk to my front door. My home is a two-story contemporary-style house. My father designed it before I was even thought of. It has four bedrooms, leading me to the conclusion I was meant to be the first of several children my parents wanted. I used to wonder what my father would be like if my mother hadn’t died all those years ago. He’s not an evil man, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he is hollow. Not hollow in the way I am, but in the sense that a part of him died with my mother. He asks the right questions and shows interest in anything I pursue, but it hurts him to look at me. From the few photos we have in the house, it’s obvious I share similarities with her, and I assume that worsens his pain. It’s why I picked a school so far away from here. He’s done his part of the parental contract, and the poor man could use a break. I wonder if he will end it all once I leave. He’s had his will written for years. I found it when I was ten, searching for hidden birthday gifts. He’s free to do it as long as I’m not around to deal with any cleanup or reporting.
Shaking thoughts of my father’s impending suicide from my head, I unlock the front door and dramatically gesture for Maria to enter. I put my backpack on its hook and toss my keys into the bowl by the shoe rack. Organization is essential, especially to me. Maria knows this and thankfully follows my lead with her keys and places her boots away. She follows me into the kitchen and helps me put the groceries away.
The kitchen is spotless and modernized. State-of-the-art utensils and appliances for any manner of cooking are all over the room. At the center of the room lies the island, complete with a built-in sink and four stools. The central air turns on, adding ambient noise to an otherwise silent house. Maria does share one thing in common with the real me: she enjoys the quiet. She patiently waits for me to finish putting everything in its place before hugging me from behind. She inhales while leaning against my back.
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“You smell nice.”
“Thanks? I’m not wearing any cologne or anything, so I’m not sure what it could be.”
I am lying. I water down cologne so that you can only smell it if you are against my body. It creates a connection in her mind and fools her brain into thinking it is my natural scent.
“I don’t know how to explain it, but you smell like you. It's comforting. Safe. You smell like never having to feel alone. I’m glad I met you.”
I turn around and pull her close. “I love you so much, Maria. I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life. I remember the first time I saw you and I knew it right there.”
“Oh yeah? You knew from the moment we met?” She asked.
“Of course.”
She stares into my eyes, and for a second, I think she can tell I’m lying. But she smiles, and I know everything is still good. Constantly having to reassure her of everything is tiresome. Ending our eye contact, I turn away to grab a carton of juice from the refrigerator. It’s mango peach, a disgustingly sweet drink that Maria adores. I'm not too fond of the stuff. It is chock full of sugar and artificial flavoring. Maria lets go of me long enough to grab two glasses from the cupboard. I pour her drink before filling my own cup with water.
“Thanks. I know you hate sugary stuff, so I appreciate you keeping this here for me.”
“It’s not a big deal, plus it makes you happy. Which is more than enough of a reason to do it.”
“That’s the thing, Eryk. My parents don’t do that stuff for each other. Sometimes, I think they don’t even like each other. They only communicate through sly remarks, digs, and vague put-downs. And that’s not love; that’s staying together for the sake of convenience,” Maria said.
I gulp down my water while waiting to see if she wants to continue. You can learn a lot from people just by listening. A byproduct is that people find you more likable when you listen more than speak. When you rarely talk, it gives more weight to your words. It makes every sentence more powerful. After studying human interactions and cold reading techniques, I can glean slightly hidden details. And everything I’ve seen of Maria’s parents leads me to believe they don’t love each other. Granted, it’s not as if I have any personal understanding of the concept—just observations and theories developed through watching others. Her mother’s smile never reaches her eyes and the way her father has a slight pause before answering his wife’s questions, where it’s clear that he had to think over his response and tone down the harshness. Even then, they needle each other and make personal insults disguised as jokes. When Maria and I first started seeing each other, I used her parents' relationship as a framework for what not to do. She doesn’t seem to want to continue, so I’ll provide her with an exit from the upsetting topic.
“It isn’t your job to fix your parents' issues. Focus on things you have power over, like having fun tonight. It’s the last party of our senior year.”
“You’re probably right, babe. Let’s make it a night to remember,” Maria said.
Her eyes change instantly, staring at me with a carnal intensity. Maria Estella is timid in every aspect of her life except for one: sex. With girl-next-door facial features and the curse of curves, Maria elicits physical responses in most people, and I am not immune to her charms. She kisses me deeply, a kiss full of longing and need. My tongue parts her lips as we kiss. She bites down on it, scraping as I pull it back. We’ve only had each other as partners, but I’d say she is quite proficient at the art of seduction. Pressing my back to the fridge, she kisses me with an insatiable hunger. She pulls my shirt off and slowly traces her nails down my chest, letting the tension rise before reaching my jeans. I grab her chin tightly, pulling her up to me.
Sex is a conquest, about establishing dominion over another. It's an exhilarating game of tug of war, but the game is less fun if you remain unchallenged. Picking her up by the waist, I place her on the island. She throws her top onto the floor as I tug off her pants. Matching black lingerie that clutches her body the way a man lost at sea clings to a lifeboat. I descend upon her like a wolf amongst cattle, feasting on sweet, supple flesh. She grips my sandy brown hair like the reins on a runaway horse. Emotions are elusive to me, but sex, sex is just a form of exercise.